The Financier, a novel eBook

“That’s the man, and that’s the
reason,” said Butler. “I don’t
care to have anything of this known in Philadelphy.
That’s why I’m here. This man has
a house on Girard Avenue—­Nineteen-thirty-seven.
You can find that out, too, when you get over there.”

“Yes,” agreed Mr. Martinson.

“Well, it’s him that I want to know about—­him—­and
a certain woman, or girl, rather.” The
old man paused and winced at this necessity of introducing
Aileen into the case. He could scarcely think
of it—­he was so fond of her. He had
been so proud of Aileen. A dark, smoldering rage
burned in his heart against Cowperwood.

“A relative of yours—­possibly, I
suppose,” remarked Martinson, tactfully.
“You needn’t tell me any more—­just
give me a description if you wish. We may be
able to work from that.” He saw quite clearly
what a fine old citizen in his way he was dealing
with here, and also that the man was greatly troubled.
Butler’s heavy, meditative face showed it.
“You can be quite frank with me, Mr. Butler,”
he added; “I think I understand. We only
want such information as we must have to help you,
nothing more.”

“Yes,” said the old man, dourly.
“She is a relative. She’s me daughter,
in fact. You look to me like a sensible, honest
man. I’m her father, and I wouldn’t
do anything for the world to harm her. It’s
tryin’ to save her I am. It’s him
I want.” He suddenly closed one big fist
forcefully.

Martinson, who had two daughters of his own, observed
the suggestive movement.

“I understand how you feel, Mr. Butler,”
he observed. “I am a father myself.
We’ll do all we can for you. If you can
give me an accurate description of her, or let one
of my men see her at your house or office, accidentally,
of course, I think we can tell you in no time at all
if they are meeting with any regularity. That’s
all you want to know, is it—­just that?”

“That’s all,” said Butler, solemnly.

“Well, that oughtn’t to take any time
at all, Mr. Butler—­three or four days possibly,
if we have any luck—­a week, ten days, two
weeks. It depends on how long you want us to
shadow him in case there is no evidence the first
few days.”

“I want to know, however long it takes,”
replied Butler, bitterly. “I want to know,
if it takes a month or two months or three to find
out. I want to know.” The old man
got up as he said this, very positive, very rugged.
“And don’t send me men that haven’t
sinse—­lots of it, plase. I want men
that are fathers, if you’ve got ’em—­and
that have sinse enough to hold their tongues—­not
b’ys.”

“I understand, Mr. Butler,” Martinson
replied. “Depend on it, you’ll have
the best we have, and you can trust them. They’ll
be discreet. You can depend on that. The
way I’ll do will be to assign just one man to
the case at first, some one you can see for yourself
whether you like or not. I’ll not tell
him anything. You can talk to him. If you
like him, tell him, and he’ll do the rest.
Then, if he needs any more help, he can get it.
What is your address?”